


Tainted Dreams

by Vinctia



Series: Dragon Age Drabbles [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Ambiguous Gender, Basically brain vomit, Drabble, Kinda vague and stuff, Other, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-23 08:06:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4869461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vinctia/pseuds/Vinctia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles on Corypheus and the Inquisitor. Each chapter is a finished piece.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tainted Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know why you're reading this, this is just me letting my ADD mind take over and do whatever. Each "chapter" is a finished piece of brain vomit/abomination/drabble/whatever you wanna call it at this point. I'll be shoving in random bits and pieces from time to time. Hell, I don't even know if this is actually a drabble or a vignette or short story. I'm just writing it down ._. Also, omg super original über-awesome title, I'm so clever... or something.  
> Comments are appreciated!

 

The changes are subtle at first.  
  
The dream returns as a nightmare, playing through as the magister taunts and attacks, holds you down. Tosses you like a ragdoll he's tired of playing with. Taunts you with words that could hurt, but you won't let it.  
The dreams come back, night after night, speaking to you, whispering things... They begin to twist and turn, little things change. Words he speak mean something else, even as he speaks the same words as before. Their meanings change and twist... Or do they? Are you really remembering what you think you're remembering?  
  
You begin to feel things. The hand around your wrist squeezes tighter, closer, constricting, before he lets you fly in anger. You never feel the impact, but the heat of his touch burns into your wrist and you feel it still when you awaken. A memory come alive, but only for a few heartbeats. Then it cools with the calming morning breeze, guiding you awake and alert.  
Soon it becomes more than just a hand. You feel a touch on your back, your shoulder, a hand running over it, yet you see no hand. You feel it, feel how it almost caresses you in the dream, how tender the touch is. Why is it here, with you, in this dream, where anger and hurt spikes and reigns?  
  
The dream comes back, time and again, you feel it before it even starts. You feel the burn in your wrist as he grabs you and hoists you up, the gentle touch on your back from an unseen hand, the long, slender fingers that cradle and caress your head as he holds you.  
Eyes glare at you with anger and disgust, but also a pitying tenderness; malplaced and _wrong_ here. But it's there and you see it, feel it, the tenderness in his unseen touch and in his angry eyes.  
  
Gentleness is not something to find in a dream like this, and yet you feel it. The creature before you holds you with spite and anger, but also in a way that makes you think he's afraid you will fly away, like a leaf on the wind.  
Anger spikes and he throws you away, as he has done so often before. And yet he holds you impossibly close... too close, constricting, choking, like the hand around your wrist. And yet with such tenderness, such gentleness, softness.  
  
The dream and memory stutters, rewinding, redoing, repeating, undoing, pausing, slowing, speeding up. Anger and gentleness overlaps, swirling in a mess of colour and feelings, becoming indistinctive from one another. Anger, pity, disgust, gentleness and... and fear?  
He's afraid. He's afraid you'll fly away from his grasp, from his careful arms and from his constricting hand.  
  
He wants and wishes. He looks into you and your memories. He knows you more than you do. He wants to know more.  
But he can only know you through dreams, through this one dream, this one memory made from hate and anger. And he tries. He tries to give it gentleness, he tries to give it tenderness, bring you the feeling he wants you to feel when you think of him.  
  
He tries to twist your view, your thoughts, trying to twist them into something foreign. He tries to twist your memories, your dreams, turning them against you and towards him.  
  
The question is...  
  
... do you let him?  
 


End file.
